In the 2010s, we used to put on a helltrack, BMX-style banked slalom at Mt. Hood in the summer, called the Rat Race. A Drink Water production, we capped the event to 100 participants, which made the race spots fairly coveted—to get in you had to have a sponsor spot, be a close friend, win the somewhat rigged lottery, or help build the course. People would say they’d come help, but the only ones that ever followed through were Mt. Baker locals Che Contreras and Dan Scanlon.
Year after year, they showed up to put in the work. One year it was raining during the build days, and no one was excited about the task ahead. The whole crew was stalling as much as possible before heading up the chairlifts in the rain to shovel for the day. When we got to the top, we found Che and Dan waiting for us to get started—they had hiked up in the rain to avoid buying a lift ticket. Then they put up fast times on race day as well.
Dan and Che are products of their environment. Since Mt. Baker Ski Area first allowed snowboarding in the early 1980s, it instantly became a cultural hub for the sport—specifically, for those seeking a no-frills experience focused on steep terrain and deep snow and not afraid of a little weather. It’s a place where respect is earned by your riding rather than your outfit. These values were baked into the lift towers themselves and have been carried forward by the likes of Craig Kelly, Jamie Lynn and Lucas Debari. And, even in a social media crazed world filled with fast fashion and internet meme trends, Mt. Baker continues to be Mt. Baker.
I started seeing more of Dan and Che while on trips to Baker—they’d be the ones setting the bootpack out Shuksan Arm. Then they became handy with a GoPro and always had the best Baker content, even before the lifts started spinning for the year. Now, with a few sponsors backing their DIY approach, they make an annual trip north to Alaska.
Alaska is typically split into two types of clientele: wealthy skiers and pro snowboarders. “The Shady Crew,” as they call themselves, are neither of those. They first showed up several years ago with dirty laundry and dreams to ride steep Alaskan spines. Unfortunately, their dreams were not met with reality.
They imagined it would be like an Uber with helicopters: you get in and tell the driver where you want to go, get out, ride down, get picked up at the bottom and do it all over again. But heli operations are complicated affairs, involving safety, logistics, snow farming, guest relations, avalanches and weather. So, when the Shady Crew arrived in Haines and met their guide for the first time, he naturally had to assess their ability level. That means taking a few warmup laps, feeling everyone out while soaking in the scenery. The Shady Crew had been saving money for steep Alaska spines, not scenery.
The Shady Crew does their research, more than anyone I’ve known. They watch every snowboard video, studying the Alaska sections, learning the areas, mapping out what they want to ride. This way they can take off from base and fly directly to the run they want—rather than scouting from the air—to minimize flight time and make the most of their funds.
But when they shared what they wanted to ride with the guide, referencing the videos they had seen of Manuel Diaz and Jason Robinson, they were told “no.” They didn’t have the credentials or qualifications to do so. It was too much of a liability to allow these Mt. Baker cowboys free reign of the place.
Dan Scanlon’s POV.
Che Contreras.
Alaska is great when it’s good, but there are so many variables that must align for everything to work out. The next couple of years the Shady Crew learned this firsthand. Even though they spent long periods of time in Alaska waiting for the perfect window, even though their friend Shawn Freyer became a guide in Haines, they never fully scored. They dealt with challenges like wind, avalanche danger, rain, heli priority and more. They don’t have the budget to fly around for hours searching for good snow.
Still, they were building a relationship with the heli operation and building trust with the guides. There was that one year where they earned the Shady Crew nickname—in 2023, instead of waiting for sun to hit the few coveted spine lines that were in good condition (as most people do), they rode them in the shade. TK Kromer was part of the crew. All those days riding north-facing steeps at Baker had set them up to ride Haines’ finest steeps without the definition and contrast of full sunshine. They weren’t there to make media, they were there to ride—they document their days as best they can, but their priority is always the pure experience of riding steep faces in deep snow.
Fast forward to this past winter. Once again, the Shady Crew was back in Alaska with high hopes. They arrived a few days before me, chasing the same weather window. And this year, on this trip, it happened—everything aligned. Day after day, they utilized their research and experience from years past. The whole lodge at Alaska Heliskiing was hooting and hollering one evening after watching Che’s 3-minute spine clip, which later went on to win the GoPro “Line of the Winter” contest, along with $15,000—next year’s heli budget.
Seeing them “score” Alaska was almost better than scoring myself. I’d watched how much effort they put into it over the years, how badly they wanted it, and the dream finally came to fruition.
It only fueled the fire for more. This summer, they spent some time building a new deck at the Alaska Heliskiing lodge. At Baker, they’ll be the first up the bootpack all winter, the first to ride many of the mountain’s iconic and obscure lines, preparing for another spring in Alaska.
TK Kromer.